


Beric Dondarrion & The Bear Island Girl

by kilojulietsierra



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Worshiping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, No Plot/Plotless, Smut, just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilojulietsierra/pseuds/kilojulietsierra
Summary: Beric wakes up. The wall is gone. The white walkers are coming. Thoros is dead. He is on his last life, but the Lord of Lightning meets someone else that may be able to bring him back from the darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little plotless thing that has been floating around in my head I decided to set free. Won't be long, probably three chapters. Fluff and smut mostly. Because the world needs more Beric Donarrion fics in it!

Beric woke up very warm. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he was certain it wouldn’t have been warm whenever and wherever it had happened. He hadn’t been anywhere warm in a long time. The fire sounded pleasant and welcoming at first, but then the cracking brought it all back in a flash of icy blue. He shot upright on the cot, ignoring the cold that washed over him when the furs fell to his lap and the memories roared back to the front of his mind.

“Easy.” A soft voice to his right startled him more, sending his hand to his sword. He took a moment to be surprised his belt was, indeed within reach. “You’re in no danger.”

As his eye focused he scanned the room, not much to look at, except for the young woman that stood in the doorway. She was dressed in dark, thick clothes and wore a heavy green cloak with a brown fur collar. He looked around once more and then back to her, “Where am I?”

The young woman entered the room, leaving the door open, “Winterfell.”

His head hurt when he shook it side to side, “No, I… we were on the wall. Shit, the wall. How did I get here?”

She came closer and sat down a bowl of stew he hadn't noticed. “You don’t remember?” She must have found her answer in his silence. “You’re lucky. A bunch of you came up on us late yesterday while we were hunting. You and your men frozen, the few horses you had nearly dead. We brought you back.”

“The others? Where are they?” He moved to get up but she laid a hand across his scarred left shoulder.

“Are in beds warming up, same as you need to be. Eat. Rest.” She let his shoulder go to point at the steaming stew before she moved to leave the small room.

She was at the door when he called out one more question, “What is you name?”

Before she shut the door she spared him a thin smile, “Kenna, My Lord.” The young woman was gone before he could tell her he was no Lord, not anymore he didn’t think. The fire popped and cracked again, the strangest urge to go after her rose up in him, but the furs were warm and the stew smelled delicious.

~~~~~~~

When he woke up the second time she was their again, her back to him, tending the fire. His body ached less and his head felt clearer. “What day is this?” His voice was raw, less smooth than normal, dry and strained.

“Same as the last time you woke. Only a little later in the day.” She didn’t turn when she spoke and Beric found himself staring at the way the firelight changed the color of her hair. From a deep brown that matched the bear hackle collar of her cloak to a bright, fiery red. “How do you feel Ser?”

His eyes darted over her shadowed face as she turned away from the hearth. “Better.”

“Good.” She wiped her hands on a hem of her cloak and then pitched it up high over her right shoulder so it was out of her way. Before he knew it her hands were poking and prodding at the collection of scars amassed on his upper body. “I’ll get the Maester, now that you seem to be less likely to die. We’ll get these wounds tended to.”

The woman, Kenna, stood up to leave but he caught her hand, “There’s no need, they will never heal better than they are now.”

She looked him over with narrowed eyes, her hand settling back against the diagonal scar in the center of his chest. “So, the rumors the men whisper? They are true?”

Instead of answering he looked down at her hand he still held by the wrist. So warm. Beric noticed a long, white scar across the back of two fingers, over two knuckles and a notch in middle part of her thumb.

She caught his gaze and smirked, tracing the scar on his chest once more before pulling her hand free. “Perhaps later we can swap stories. But, for now, the red headed wildling would very much like to speak with you.” Just like that she left him on silent, leather soles. Once again he felt the pull to follow after her but he fought it, turning instead to stare into the fire she had stoked.

At first he saw nothing, but then in the center of the fire he saw it and it robbed him of his breath. A flaming bear loping through the fire. With a pain in his chest, worse than any spear or arrow, he shoved out of the cot and turned his back to the fireplace.

~~~~~~~

It felt good to be up and around again. Talking to Tormund had been bittersweet. They were alive, but not for long. He had left their meeting to walk the wall of the keep and stretch his legs, get some fresh air. Halfway around he saw her again and the sight jarred him.

She was no longer in her fine dress and cloak. Instead she wore a plain wool riding skirt and a man's tunic with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It wasn’t the change of clothing that caught him off guard but the sight of her pale arms and hands exposed to the cold and covered in blood as she skinned what looked to be the second deer hung on a rack of four.

Curious, Beric watched. He watched her move about the carcass, slicing, pulling, tugging, cutting the hide away from the meat. The distance between them was short enough that he could see the way she would nimbly switch her grip on the knife, how she would tilt her head from side to side in concentration, her long dark braid swaying with the motion. He watched, leaned back against the stone wall, hand rested on the pommel of his sword until she had finished the whole deer.

A young man approached her leading a horse with a doe slung over the saddle. They talked and laughed while they tied the animals hind legs together and hung it on the pole with the others. By the time Dondarrion made it down to where she was, she was wiping off a larger blade and walking around to slice open the does belly from stem to stern. “Ladies don’t get their hands dirty where you’re from I take it?”

Part of him was surprised she noticed him, but another part of him was not surprised at all. “To tell the truth, I don’t remember where I’m from.”

Kenna did look up then, as she walked back to the table and set down the knife. Her eyes were wide and curious, focused solely on him even as she cracked the deers rib cage open with her bare hands and a small grunt. When he only stared back she focused again on her work. Pulling the animals entrails from the body cavity, careful to pull the heart out first and set it aside, followed by the liver which she sliced a piece off of like a kitchen maid would slice an apple. She popped the piece of liver in to her mouth and then poured the blood from the organ over her hands to warm them as her breath fogged around her. She shook them off for a second, worked her fingers and then picked up the liver again, carving off another piece for herself and a second which she held out to him on the blade.

He looked her up and down for a heartbeat, and then with his left hand still resting on his sword he took a step forward and pulled the meat from the blade but did not eat it. “This is normal where you are from?”

With narrower eyes she began to drag the other organs from the carcass and drop them into the slop bucket at her feet. “Bear Island.” She grunted slightly as she kicked the bucket out of her way and picked up a different blade so she could continue her skinning. “In case you haven’t noticed the men folk around here have more important matters on their minds. So, like we are raised to do, I step up and help where I can.”

“By hunting and butchering.”

“Aye. A butcher’s daughter, those are the only two things I’m good for.” She let out a self-depreciating chuckle.

He popped the piece of liver in his mouth and chewed it. Beric had nothing really to say but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He was too enthralled with watching her work.

“If you’re just goin’ to stand there and stare I’ll put you to work.”

Now he chuckled and, with a nod, walked between two of the already skinned carcasses to pick up one of the knives and slice off another two pieces of liver. One he ate himself and the other he stabbed and held out to her on the end of the knife. She paused and looked at him oddly. A glimpse of something from his past startled him, something that made him think he had seen other women look at him this way, but he couldn’t be sure.

With a slim smirk she leaned forward and pulled the liver from the blade with her teeth and chewed it as her hands continued their work. Beric set the knife down and started to leave but he turned to look over his shoulder. He had to twist twice as far to compensate for his missing eye, “Is this how you cut your hand then?”

She looked over her own shoulder and grinned, “Tell me how you lost your eye and I’ll tell you how I cut my hand.”

He turned to face her fully but began to walk backwards, something taking over his better judgement. There were more important matters; an army of Lannisters to the south an army of undead to the north and both getting closer every day. For the life of him he couldn’t convince himself to care about any of those things. “Later perhaps.” He continued on his way, feeling lighter than he had in he couldn’t remember how long, and when he glanced one last time over his shoulder he was pleased to see her continuing her bloody work with a smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

~~~Chapter Two ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beric Dondarrion, the Lightning Lord, Lord of Blackhaven, refused to admit he was saddened that he not seen Kenna since morning, when he had seen her standing in blood soaked snow. Now the sun had gone down long ago and the castle was quiet except for the nervous bustle of the green men that could not sleep, knowing what was coming.

Though for Beric he couldn’t remember the last time he truly slept, so this night would be no different than any others. Except for her. If he could find her.

He had walked the perimeter of the wall again, through the yard and the stables, the kitchen and the great hall where men and women still lingered. No sign of her. With quiet resignation he worked his way back to the small room he had been given. All over the keep he had looked for her only to open the door to his chamber and find her sitting on the floor in front of the small fireplace, her back leaned against the side of the bed.

She didn’t look at him, nor did he expect her to. He still kept his good eye on her as he shed his cloak and walked over to the small table beside the fire. There was a plate and a partially empty flagon of ale, the closer he got he saw that she had her own plate in her lap and an empty cup on the floor beside her leg. “Hiding in plain sight.” He chuckled to himself as he looked between her and the food.

She put down the roll she had been picking apart and looked his way finally, “Wasn’t hiding. Just less people here than the main hall.” He stared at her, skeptical, as he undid his sword belt and laid it on the table. Her eyes glanced from him, to the fire and then back. “Wasn’t hiding from you, rather.”

Beric nodded with a closed lip smile and looked down at the plate of food.

“The kitchen girls say they haven’t seen you eat or drink.” Kenna picked up a chunk of potato with her fork and continued with her own meal.

Again Beric nodded, “Not much appetite for either one these days.”

She hummed while she finished chewing, “Well if you don’t want yours I’ll have it.”

With a little bigger smile he grabbed the plate and the flagon and sat next to her on the fur she had spread on the floor, groaning a little as he leaned back against the bed. He set the plate between them and the flagon off to the side after he had filled the cup. She watched him take a drink from it, her cup, but said nothing. He picked up a piece of meat and chewed on it while he stared into the flames, flinching slightly he reached up to rub at his missing eye under the ratty buckskin patch.

“Does it bother you?”

He stopped and looked at her, though she still focused on her plate. Beric rubbed at the scarred socket one more time and then returned his stare to the fire. “Aye. Sometimes. When the patch rubs the wrong way.”

Kenna nodded and washed down another bite of potato with a sip of ale. “Take it off then.”

“It’s fine.”

“You took your cloak off, and your sword. Do you wear the patch all the time? Even when you’re alone?”

Beric wondered if it was the ale that made her so inquisitive and seemed to melt her cold, hard northern shell. “It’s not a thing that a lady should have to see.”

With a snort she set her empty plate aside and picked up one of the carrots from his, “I’m not a Lady, not a proper one anyway. Just a girl that grew up in the shadow of a keep. And mind you, I’ve seen the insides of man and beast alike, it takes a fair bit to turn my stomach.”

Now that he was focused on it his eye was bothering him terribly and so, with hesitant fingers, he peeled the crude patch from about his head and tossed it up onto the table next to his sword. He rubbed at it once with the back of his hand and stared into the fire, sure to keep the sight of it from her as much as possible. Which apparently displeased her. Kenna leaned over and tilted his face to look at her directly. He allowed it, keeping his gaze on the floor so as to not see her reaction. “Hmm, it is a bit gruesome isn’t it.” She said it as though she was talking about the whether and as soon as he looked back at her to respond she had let his face go and started eating the food from his plate.

They sat in silence until she had finished eating and they had finished off the flagon between the two of them. He watched her stand up gracefully, her black winter gown settling as she carried the dishes back to the table. After she set them down she opened her mouth and turned as if to say something but halted as her eyes landed on his sword. “The lightning lord and his flaming sword… is it real? The man that cannot be killed? The fire? Or is it truly all just stories?”

Beric still sat on the floor, looking up at her. “Oh, I can be killed just as easy as any man. But, there was a priest, a good man and a good friend of mine, that was able to bring me back.”

“Was?” Her fingers ghosted over the leather wrapped grip.

“Aye, he was killed, beyond the wall.” Beric looked away from her to stare into the fire.

They stayed in silence for some time. Kenna remained standing by the table. “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” More silence and then, “He was a red priest?”

Beric looked back to her, a bit confused but gave a slow nod. “Aye. We follow the Lord of Light.”

She nodded herself, “And he’s the one that brings you back, the Lord of Light? Or he did anyway?”

“Aye.”

“And the flaming sword, that’s something the red priest taught you.” Her fingers still hovered over the swords pommel, barely touching.

This time with a sad smile on his face Beric answered, “Aye, Thoros did.”

“Thoros of Myr? Your priest friend was Thoros of Myr?” She turned to look at him, wide eyed.

“He was, you know of him?” Something inside Beric wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.

She looked back to the sword, “Just from the stories.” WIth a hesitant but steady hand she picked up the sword, fingers wrapped around the leather of the scabbard just below the swords crossguard. She held it in both hands as she turned back to Beric and held it out to him hilt first. “Will you show me?”

At first he thought he may laugh, but the honest, wide eyed look on her face changed his mind. Instead he smiled and pushed to stand up. His knees and back popped as he did so. He continued to smile at her as he wrapped his fingers around the sheath just above hers. Beric looked straight at her as his their grips overlapped and his whole body warmed at the touch, then slowly he pulled the sword and belt from her grasp, shaking his head. “This castle’s already been burnt to the ground once, won’t have the second time be my fault.”

Obviously a little saddened she let him pull the weapon from her without a fight. She started to let her hand fall to her side but he caught it and held it as a Lord would a Lady’s. His thumb brushed along the trail of puckered white skin that covered the back of her fingers and knuckles. Her hands were cold but her touch warm and he had to swallow thickly before he spoke again, “Was I right earlier? You cut it at your work?”

Her eyes were green. Beric wasn’t sure if he’d noticed that until just now, when they flicked down to look at their joined hands and the glow from the fire illuminated her face perfectly. Darker green than his own but beautiful and alluring. They slid closed as she nodded once and then again, “I was still young and learning, a slow learner and easily distracted. My father was not pleased.”

“Hmm.” Beric couldn’t look away from her. Nor could he let go of her hand so, instead, he let his thumb idly circle each knuckle back and forth in a steady motion. “Why is that?”

She watched his thumb work over her knuckles, head tilted to the side as it had been while she skinned the dear. “He had no sons to teach his trade and only one daughter to marry off, then she goes and slices up her pretty little hand caping a boar.” Kenna laughed, light and airy, even smiled a bit. “More upset with himself than anything but nonetheless.”

Unable to help himself Beric chuckled with her, stretching his head and neck to the side to accentuate the missing eye and scabbed rope burns at his throat. “It could have been much worse.” She truly laughed then, a real smile on her face so genuine he couldn’t help but return it. Though his own laugh was cut off by the jolt that ran through him when her fingers traced the rough and gnarled scar around his neck. He studied her face as she examined it, passive save for the tiniest furrow in her brow and twist to her lips. “The Lannister’s hung me for treason.” Her gaze darted to his and then back to the scar. “The eye was them too.” He swallowed hard, “Thoros always joked they couldn’t decide whether to hang me or stab me in the eye.”

Nothing was said, she continued to trace the scar and Beric could not look away from her face until he felt her fingers scratch through his beard. He let his eye close slowly before looking back to her, finding her eyes staring but out of focus. They stood the same height, something else he hadn’t fully noticed until now, and he found it pleased him as much as their shared eye color. In an instant of weakness or possibly strength, he wasn’t sure which, he closed the small distance between them and covered her lips with his. Nothing happened for the first heartbeat, but after the second heartbeat her lips parted and pressed against his. Both of her hands grasped the back of his neck pulling him closer and his hands did the same, fingers threading into her hair and holding tight. She moaned, opened her mouth wider for him and a familiar feeling rushed through him as their mouths moved together, but it wasn’t the feeling of being a young man chasing after pretty maids and stealing kisses.

Kissing her felt like being dragged from the darkness, it felt like coming back to the light.

~~~~~~~


End file.
